


Price of Forbearance

by orchidbreezefc



Category: Marvel 616, Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Introspection, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Sex Repulsion, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidbreezefc/pseuds/orchidbreezefc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evan is asexual and firmly abstinent. His crush Quentin, historically, is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Price of Forbearance

**Author's Note:**

> *IRL friends please do not read! <3 ilu*
> 
> So this is a vent fic I wrote to express/work out some of my acey feelings, in the form of thoughts that are recurring themes in my life being asexual+sex-repulsed, as well as stuff that came up because of a specific event that happened recently. 
> 
> I don't know if writing this helped me at all, but I'm sure there are some asexual readers who will relate to this, so here it is! I hope maybe it helps someone achieve some sort of closure or just feel better seeing something that reflects their feelings.
> 
> Trevor and Quentin are written as transgender per my headcanon as usual, and the datefriend Trevor mentions is Kubark!

The first time Evan finds out Quentin isn't a virgin, it feels like his insides have all been scooped out, up to his chest, which has turned to lead.

As soon as he hears it, jealousy pours into him as fast and violent as a flash flood. It's so intense it takes him a bit of thought (while following the conversation going on around him and trying not to look like he's about to scream) to pick out the parts he's jealous of. 

It's not that he wants to have sex with Quentin, or anyone--he figured that out about himself a long time ago. Is it that he can't stand Quentin doing that with someone else? 

That might be part of it, even if it's not something he wants--but then, is he selfish for not wanting Quentin to have sex with anyone else, and not wanting to do it himself? Could he ever have a relationship with anyone under those terms?

Nobody else had been too surprised by the revelation, judging by a quick look around; he has gone quiet and Idie and Trevor are now spiritedly arguing about makeup while Jia plays on her phone, not needing makeup herself. Of course they're not surprised, what with Quentin being the way he is and quite old enough, Evan supposes.

And it's not necessarily surprise that's the problem. It just always feels like people are growing up in some intangible way and leaving him behind, going somewhere he can't and won't follow. And some part of him innately rebels against his friends doing something he finds so repelling, even if that's probably too hurtful a sentiment to ever express.

Evan wishes he could go to his room without being conspicuous. Instead he balls his fists into his sides to keep his shapeshifting in line.

Really, he thinks, he's mostly just jealous that anyone got to _see_ Quentin like that. That some nameless person who can’t even be bothered to be in Quentin's life anymore as far as he can tell could be so intimate with him, could be allowed to see Quentin in all his vulnerability, and not Evan.

If he wants anything past Quentin to be his, or at least untouched by anyone else, it’s that--to be allowed to see that much of Quentin, a transgender boy who hardly ever shows even his arms. How far do the freckles trail down from his face? What color are his eyes really, without the contacts? What would it be like to lie with him, see him with his hair messy and trailing into Evan's face, smiling and beautiful and soft and pale all over?

It’s not fair.

Trevor nudges Evan, looking up at him with their main eyes and smiling in that sheepish, half-apologetic way of theirs. “Sorry, Evan, could you come with me to my room? The bamfs keep putting my meds on a high shelf, I want to make sure they didn’t do that today and you’re the only one who can reach."

Evan nods, dazed, and gets up to follow, offering a small wave to the girls as they leave.

Trevor shoves their hands in their pockets as soon as they turn the corner. Several of their eyes are trained watchfully on Evan. “Sorry I left you hanging," they say, brushing their hair behind their ear. “I could tell you were upset, but y'know, sometimes you get moods. I was gonna see if this one would pass. Clearly not. My bad."

Evan blinks. Is Trevor developing some kind of telepathy? “What…?"

“I don't really need you to get my meds, Evan," says Trevor patiently. “My datefriend can fly, remember?” They tilt back onto their heels. “I could tell you needed to get out of there. Don’t worry about it."

Evan's mouth opens and closes. He supposes it does make sense that Trevor, of all people, would have noticed something like that. "Uh, wow. Thanks, Trevor." 

Trevor winks with one of their main eyes. “Any time." They turn off toward their own room, then pause. “You know you can come talk whenever, right?"

Evan exhales a breath he feels he must have been holding for ages. “Yeah." He feels himself smile, for maybe the first time in a long time. “Thanks, Trev."

Trevor waves a hand in acknowledgement and walks away. Evan watches them go before he figures he should probably just do what he wanted to do before and go to bed; it’s late enough anyway.

He doesn’t turn on the light when he enters his room, appreciating the comforting silence and the enveloping darkness that always made him feel a little less self-conscious. He takes his time changing into his pajamas and feeling himself breathe, wondering if he should put the Quentin thing out of mind and get over it or take up Trevor’s suggestion and talk to someone about it. 

Maybe Deadpool or Fantomex—no, they’d just suggest sleeping with someone himself and/or visiting outrageous acts of violence upon Quentin. Maybe Mrs. Preston, who he’s sure would be perfectly kind and have the right advice, if he can work up the courage to talk to her about something sexual.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. It’s not that he’s worried about finding someone who would listen and respond well, it’s all about the act of expressing the feelings. He’ll do it when he’s ready, he supposes, and do his best not to let it eat him up inside until then.

As Evan settles into bed, he feels something soft and lovely and pink flow pleasurably into his brain. His last thought before falling asleep is the realization that he hasn’t used mental shields for the last few hours.


End file.
